


Promontory Point

by aces



Category: Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-14
Updated: 2010-05-14
Packaged: 2020-10-06 02:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces/pseuds/aces
Summary: Written for the Big FinishShort Tripscontest-thingy and RUTHLESSLY IGNORED.  Possibly because it's crap.  Or because I put Erimem in dragagain.  I'll let you decide.  Have made no modifications since I wrote it in April.





	Promontory Point

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Big Finish _Short Trips_ contest-thingy and RUTHLESSLY IGNORED. Possibly because it's crap. Or because I put Erimem in drag <s>again</s>. I'll let you decide. Have made no modifications since I wrote it in April.

Peri stared in dismay at the crowd in the distance, clustered around two steam engines, and then she turned to the Doctor. “This is a _terrible_ idea," she declared. Again. “It’s never going to work, Doctor!”

“Oh ye of little faith,” the Doctor sighed and started striding toward the crowd again. “Come along,” his voice drifted back to his companions.

Peri turned in appeal to Erimem. The other woman shrugged under her cap—anachronistic, Peri thought, but Erimem had seen it in the TARDIS wardrobe and insisted upon wearing it. “We have to do _some_thing, Peri,” Erimem pointed out reasonably as they followed in the Doctor’s footsteps, and Peri hated it when she did things like that. “We can’t just leave this alien bomb lying around to be—hit by a hammer, is that it, Doctor?”

“Something like that, yes,” he said. “It’s 10 May 1869, Peri, Promontory Point, Utah. They are about to connect the two halves of your country together with the transcontinental railroad. It’s a day for celebration.” He slipped a golden railroad spike out of his inside coat pocket. “More so if _this_ is the golden spike they use for the ceremony, rather than the one currently waiting to be—well, hit by a sledge. The hit which, by the way, is supposed to be telegraphed around the country, making it doubly embarrassing for all concerned if we let this bomb go off.”

“Who makes bombs that look like railroad spikes?” Peri said blankly, lifting her full skirts to walk more easily across the brush dusting the ground all around them. Mountains rose around them in three directions, not so far away, but this plateau was relatively flat and barren. She was already sweating under the sun, and it wasn’t all that warm yet. How the hell could women wear clothes like this all the time?

“Mondrovians,” the Doctor said matter-of-factly. “Very powerful bombs, too; one wrong move around one of these and the United States could find itself with a second Grand Canyon.”

“Oh, great,” Peri groaned. “And you want us to save the day by stealing one spike and replacing it with another. How on earth are we going to manage that?!” She flung a hand at the still-gathering crowds around the newly-laid railroad tracks. “Look at all those people!”

“Misdirection,” the Doctor said. “Crowds can be useful, Peri, there’s a lot going on and a lot to look at.”

Peri tripped on a rock. “Da-gnabbit,” she bit out, remembering mid-word when she was. She doubted a young lady of the mid-nineteenth century would be caught swearing in public. “Why did I have to be the one in a skirt again? I could have dressed like a boy too, you know.”

“One woman in the group lends us distinction,” the Doctor said dryly. “Two lends us a little too _much_ distinction.”

Peri tripped on another rock. Erimem took her arm; she was having no trouble at all in her trousers and flat-heeled shoes. “Stupid skirt,” Peri muttered. She missed her own comfortable shorts.

“Next time, you can be the boy,” Erimem consoled her.

“Thanks,” said Peri. “I think.”

They had joined the crowd of celebrants by this point. Two large steam engines hovered close to each other on the railroad tracks, and in between were an assortment of railroad workers—Chinese, Europeans, Americans—along with whom the Doctor pointed out as railroad officials (much nicer suits, of course), telegraph workers, newspaper reporters, and general members of the public. Peri saw a handful of other women in hoops and frills, at least, though there certainly weren’t many of them. And no wonder; who the hell would want to be wearing full dresses in weather like this?

“I’m from California,” she said aloud. “I’ve never even been to Utah before.”

“Then enjoy the new experience.” The Doctor’s voice was brisk; he wasn’t paying her much attention. He glanced around and then turned to face his two companions directly. At least he provided Peri a little shade. “Now, Erimem, you know what to do?”

“Yes, Doctor.” She was staring hard at the telegraph workers—their table was right next to the tracks and very near the spikes—the railroad workers, the others hovering near the final four spikes waiting to be “laid.” The Doctor said two were actually golden, one silver, and the last gold, silver, and iron—but Erimem would know which she needed to exchange by the inscription (which, in a funny quirk of universal improbabilities, meant “Made on Mondros” in the Mondrovian language). “Peri’s right, you know. I can’t go over there now. Look at all those people!”

“They’ll be moved along shortly,” the Doctor said, glancing over his shoulder. “Just be patient.”

“Patient,” Peri muttered. “Ha!”

Erimem’s lips curved upward in an affectionate smile. “Someday I think you shall learn patience, Peri,” she said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Peri retorted. She eyed Erimem’s trousers enviously. _She_ wasn’t wearing four layers in warm spring weather.

“I still think you should be the one to exchange them, Doctor, not Erimem,” she went on, turning back to the Time Lord.

“I can handle it, Peri,” Erimem said firmly.

“I _know_ you can,” Peri replied, “it’s just _he_ knows—”

“Eriemem can blend in far better than I,” the Doctor repeated with a patience he probably didn’t feel himself, and Peri bit her lip. “I told you, we’re the misdirection. Now hush,” he added abruptly and pointed. “Look, they’re moving people off now so everybody will have a chance to see—and so they can move the engines closer together a bit later on, I think.”

“Give me the spike, Doctor,” Erimem said, her face lit up with suppressed excitement and determination. Peri rolled her eyes. Erimem had an unflagging sense of curiosity and adventure. It had probably served her well as pharaoh, Peri supposed, if it could be directed in a political bent.

The former pharaoh in question stood close to the Time Lord, and he slipped the spike out of his pocket again. Erimem slid it into her own inside pocket. “Watch for me, Doctor,” she said. “I would prefer not to get caught in the act.”

“It would be the wrong sort of headline altogether,” the Doctor agreed. “Be careful.”

“Yes,” Peri said, stepping up on Erimem’s other side and squeezing her hand. “Be _careful_.”

Erimem smiled at her quickly and then slipped away from her companions. The Doctor took Peri’s arm and then started walking, waving to first one group and then another. “Hello,” he called to anyone who looked his way. “Lovely day, isn’t it? Marvellous weather! Perfect for the festivities!” He lowered his voice so only his companion would hear him. “Come along, Peri, _distract_,” he said.

“Ohhh, I hate this part,” she muttered and then spoke up. “Oh yes,” she said loudly, “much better weather than when we left home!”

She’d watched Erimem’s progress out of the corner of her eye, trying not to stare and draw attention to the other woman. Erimem had slipped easily through the crowds and now stood by the four spikes. She looked around quickly. Peri saw two men hovering uncomfortably close by the other woman and tugged at the Doctor’s arm.

“Doctor,” she whispered, “do you know either of those two men?”

The Doctor glanced toward where she was indicating. “Why, yes, I think so,” he said, squinting a little. Peri half-expected him to pull out his little half-moon spectacles. “The one on the left is Leland Stanford, former governor of California, head of the Central Pacific, and future founder of Stanford University—not your alma mater, is it?”

“No,” said Peri, “but thanks. Oh, Mr Stanford!” she called and waved excitedly, stepping away from the Doctor, who was hissing at her to ask what she thought she was doing. She ignored him and tripped her way across to the two men. “Mr Stanford, I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this but I just had to say what an honour it is to meet you!”

“Oh,” the old gentleman with the whiskers—but then, _what_ man didn’t have whiskers of some kind in this era?—looked a little flattered and a lot bemused. “Oh, why, thank you, ma—er, miss?”

“Isn’t this just such an exciting day?” Peri gushed and waved her parasol dramatically, keeping the two men from turning away and discovering Erimem as she quickly exchanged spikes. “I can’t wait for the ceremony to start!”

“Er, indeed,” said Leland Stanford, exchanging glances with his companion. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Of course,” Peri smiled widely and turned back toward the Doctor. He was easy to pick out in his beige cricketing gear, much lighter and more cheerful in hue than the sober colours worn by the men and even the women in this decade. He’d been right about acting as misdirection; people did keep glancing his way. Peri rolled her eyes. She wasn’t about to tell him so, though.

She and Erimem rejoined him at the same time. “Well?” Peri said. “You got it, right?”

“But of course!” said Erimem. “I had no problems, Peri, thanks to you.”

“Good. Shouldn’t we get going now, Doctor?”

“And miss the ceremony?” the Doctor protested. “Where’s your sense of the occasion, Peri? Don’t you want to witness an historic moment from your own country’s past?”

“Not in this outfit,” was Peri’s frank reply, and Erimem giggled. “Besides which, we’ve still got a _bomb_ to dispose of, remember?”

“Nothing to worry about,” said the Doctor, “so long as nobody comes almost near it with a sledge.”

“_Almost_ near it? What do you mean by that?”

“I’m not sure anybody actually hit the golden spike,” the Doctor admitted. “Those railroad officials all have terrible aim. Or hangovers, in some instances.”

“So we could have traded spikes _after_ the ceremony? When all these people were gone?” Peri said incredulously.

“We couldn’t be sure!” the Doctor said. “Besides which, I’ve always wanted to see this moment. I rather like trains.”

“You’re kidding,” Peri said.

“Shh,” said the Doctor and nodded toward the tracks. “I think they’re starting.”

Peri glared at the Doctor. Erimem took Peri’s arm again and shrugged, as if to say “What can you do?” Peri huffed and turned toward the tracks again to wait out the ceremony.

It was about as exciting as she’d expected from ceremonies in her own time, which was not very exciting at all. There was a brief prayer, and some short speeches, and then the railroad officials—including Peri’s new friend—did the honours. Their hits on the spike were indeed supposed to be telegraphed all around the country, but the officials also all missed, so somebody had to fake it on the telegraph. And then they removed all the ceremonial spikes and properly finished the track so they could bring the engines in closer and get everybody’s picture. Peri insisted on the chance to hit one of the spikes when other women and members of the public did so. It was only fair, she thought, and neither the Doctor nor Erimem begrudged her the opportunity.

“Kinda disappointing,” she said at last, when she made her way back to her friends. She had at last found the right height at which to hold her skirts so they wouldn’t show off her undergarments and so she wouldn’t keep tripping over them. “No real flowery speeches, no decorations, it all feels very last-minute.”

“Business competition and personal rivalry amidst the railroad companies,” the Doctor told her. “They only agreed on specific details about the ceremony about ten minutes before it all started.”

“I thought I overheard them arguing about it,” Erimem agreed, nodding discreetly at Stanford; his companion from earlier was nowhere to be seen. “Before you interrupted them, Peri. I’ve enjoyed this,” she went on with a smile. “I would never have imagined something so—magnificent in my own time and country.”

The Doctor grinned. “You see, Peri? I’m not the only one who likes trains.”

Peri snorted. “C’mon,” she said, picking up her skirts again, “we’re going to miss all the pictures if we’re not careful.”

“Ah yes,” said the Doctor. “Only a few decades old and already your ancestors have discovered how useful photography can be as a publicity and propaganda tool. Images from this day will wind up everywhere throughout the country and will keep popping up for centuries to come.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peri said. “If we’re going to be at this moment in history—and I’m gonna be stuck in this da—stupid dress—then I at least want to have some proof that I was here!”

They were stuck behind some tall soldiers, in the end, but Peri took comfort in knowing that an oddly-assorted trio of two women (one dressed as a boy) and one man were part of the jubilant crowds on Promontory Point, Utah that day.


End file.
